Coincidence Does Not imply Causality
by Averysillybird
Summary: Lestrade has brought a case to Sherlock in which Scotland Yard believes they are dealing with a completely random criminal master-mind. This fiction focuses around the point at which sociopaths and empaths are similar.
1. Introduction

_Significantly post-Rechenbach, or before, I suppose I am not entirely sure myself_

Sherlock was pacing in the parlor as John read the newspaper on the couch. "Dammit" John sighed as he dramatically folded the newspaper. Sherlock paused for a second and looked over at John with his normal expression of mock curiosity, "What?" John crossed his arms in a mock brooding fashion. "I forgot to buy a lottery ticket yesterday, the numbers they picked were the same ones I always choose." He shook his head, "Just my luck." Sherlock went back to pacing, picking up a few objects from his desk that he began to focus on. As he leaned against the window he held the objects up the light and muttered, "I don't believe in luck." John picked up another section of the newspaper and said, "I know, I know, everything has a pattern to it, at best it's just a coincidence." He trailed off muttering, "But it is sure a lot easier to blame luck than my own stupidity." The doorbell rang, Sherlock set down the objects, but continued to stare at them. "That is precisely what the idea of it was invented for." entered leading Lestrade. "Visitor for you Shelock," she said quietly. Lestrade stood awkwardly in the doorway. John glanced up from his paper and said, "Hello Inspector, do you have another case?" Sherlock didn't look up, instead seemed completely engrossed in his task, he made way to the other side of the desk to sort through a chest of other mysterious objects. "You know Lestrade, it would probably save us both time if you called. That way I could tell you I am too busy without you coming all the way over here." Lestrade took a tentative step forward. "Look Sherlock I know I say this often, but I really mean it this time. We are completely stumped. We have tried ever other alternative." John set down his paper, glanced at Lestrade and then over to Sherlock. "Oh come on now Sherlock, right now you've only got the Trow case and last night you said you almost had that one solved." There was an awkward silence as Sherlock continues to sort through the chest. Lestrade broke the silence with a muffled cough. Sherlock stopped ruffling through the chest, and with a dramatic sigh we crossed the room, his coat flaring out. In one fluid movement he perched on the edge of one of the chairs, his hands clasped together and his mouth resting on his index fingers. "Alright what is this all about" he demanded. Lestrade moved quickly to sit in the chair across from Sherlock. "Originally we thought nothing of it, but there is a man that has been present at 10 perceived accidental deaths this month alone. The families of the victims have joined together to request that we investigate him. However upon inspecting the evidence further, everything points to them being accidents, not intentional murder." Sherlocks eyes narrowed slightly, "And your men are still convinced this man has something to do with these deaths?" "There just isn't any other way to explain it. He knew none of the victims personally. We are sure he must be a master at cover up his crimes. We need to know if his connected to any other deaths, and if he is planning anymore." Sherlock stood up again, turning his back to Lestrade as he stared out the window. "Do you know where he is currently located?" "No when sent out a warrant for his arrest, he disappeared." Sherlock closed his eyes for a second, then spun around suddenly, walking towards the door. "Alright we'll take the case. John, we're going to the morgue now." Sherlock paused at the door. "Do you have a list of the victims?" Lestrade nodded, standing up quickly. He handed him a sheet of paper. Sherlock scanned it, opened the door and took a brisk step outside.


	2. Section 2

An attendant pulled back the tarp, revealing a badly bruised and bloody body. Sherlock stood over the table, scanning the young female for information. " A female in her early 20s, middle class. Cause of death is a collapsed ribcage." He walked around the table, trying to notice any other details that could possibly be noted. "The car was going to precisely 55 kilometers per hour which was within the speed limit. It was attempting to stop when it made contact." Sherlock began to look mildly frustrated. "No other apparent evidence of intentional death. She was slightly inebriated at time of death," Quickly he turned around and began walking down the hall, "In order to find more information we must interview the witnesses and family members." John thanked the attendant as he turned to trot after Sherlock. The attendant nodded politely, looking slightly bewildered.

"You are the mother of Amanda Kelley, correct?" "Y-yes," the middle age women stammered, clearly unable to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Were present at her death?" The woman shook her head, she glanced up for a fleeting second and added, "But a friend of mine was there. She was the one…" The woman looked down again and took a deep breath before adding, " The one who saw the man." Sherlock sighed and turned his back to the woman, "And what did she say the man was doing that caused her to note his appearance?" "She said… she said that he was hold her, pleading with her to be alright." Sherlock turned around again. "That is a rather peculiar thing for a murderer to do wouldn't you say?" The women scoffed slightly and stammer for a few seconds before saying, "Look, it wasn't until a mutual acquaintance introduced me to the mother of another… victim… when we were talking… she mentioned the man too… He had done the same thing with her son only he died from sever burns. We then found… others that had seen him. We were the ones that figured out his name." "And that name is?" "James Ayrd." Sherlock began to pace slightly, casually analyzing the room. "Did your daughter have many enemies?" The older woman seemed to think for a second and then shook her head again. "No I mean… There were a few girls but nothing that seemed that… extreme." "What are their names and where can I find them?" "Well there was Jane Burns and…Mary… Turner… They went to Uni with her." "John" The assistant sat up in the armchair he was seated in, looking as though he had just been dozing off. "Y-yes?" he asked looking up at Sherlock as he moved towards the entry-way. Sherlock turned around and stated, "Get up, we're headed to a university."

-  
"Who are you? Only students are allowed the dorm commons." A rather cross young lady demanded. Sherlock brushed passed her muttered, "We're here to investigate a possible murder." He looked around the commons for a second before turning back the young woman that had become much paler and frightened looking than before. "Do you know where I can find Jane Burns or Mary Turner?" "Uh… I believe Jane just came back to her dorm, I can show you where it is if you'd like." "Yes, please do." Sherlock and John followed the girl. John turned to Sherlock and whispered, " Why do I get the feeling this won't turn up any leads." Sherlock turned to John and said, "In most circumstances I am considered the impatient one." John rolled his eyes. The girl that had been leading them stopped and knocked timidly on a door. "J-jane, there are two men from the police here to see you." There was the sound of scrambling and door was quickly opened by a rather frantic looking girl with messy hair and sweat-pants. "I swear officers, the weed wasn't mine, I don't know how it got in my coat," She stammered quickly, looking from Sherlock to John with a fearful expression. Sherlock raised and eyebrow and said, "We are here to talk to you about Amanda Kelley's death." Jane seemed to let out a sigh of relief and under her breath she murmured, "Oh thank god." She turned around and walked into the dorm a bit before sitting down on a desk chair, peering up at the two men. "I heard it was an accident, we weren't close or anything." Sherlock took a step towards the girl, "How well did you get along with Amanda?" The girl shrugged and said, "Sometimes we'd argue… I mean my ex boyfriend cheated on me with her….so…" A sudden realization seemed to strike the girl. "Wait a minute, you'd only be investigating if you thought she was murdered wouldn't you?! Am I suspect?!" The girl stood up, and Sherlock did answer her question, "Ms. Burns, do you know a James Ayrd?." The girl looked completely bewildered and stammered, "No… I don't think so… why? Is he a student here? Is he a suspect too?" "That's all we needed to know." Sherlock turned and he and John began to walk out of the room when Jane shouted after him, "You should talk to Mary though, she always hated Amanda."

-  
"I mean I hated that bitch's guts but I wouldn't… kill her… You know" "No." Sherlock responded. He, John and the girl were sitting in a lounge at the college. The girl sat slouched back in her chair, smacking her gum loudly "What?" The girl's expression changed from one of shear boredom to one of slight confusion. "No… I don't know." There was a brief uncomfortable silence. "What he means is, will you explain what you mean." John clarified. "Oh, well I just… like… I wouldn't even know how to kill someone if I wanted to." Sherlock took a deep, audible, and frustrated breath and John shot him a warning glance. "Ms. Turner, do you have a connections with a man named James Ayrd." The girl laughed obnoxiously and said, "I don't know I have "connections" with a lot of guys at this school that I don't even know the names of." "He is not enrolled in this school." The girl shrugged and said, "then I guess probably not but you never know." "Alright, come on John let's go." Sherlock got up from his seat and trotted away at a rapid pace. John jogged to catch up, "I take it you don't like young people very much?" "I have never been able to stand them." "You know you were once young too." Sherlock stopped and turned to John. "Not in the same way they are young."


	3. Section 3

John and Sherlock waded through the charred remains of. John seemed rather lost, he glanced over at Sherlock and asked, "What exactly are we looking for?" Sherlock peered under a large charred beam, "Evidence." John rolled his eyes and said, "No really?" He glanced around again and asked, "Evidence of what though?" "Evidence of origins this fire. Help me lift this." John jogged through the rubble and saw what Sherlock was gesturing to. He sighed and said, "You've got to be kidding me." "No, the burn marks and collapse of the structure suggest the fire originated here." John bent down and tried to push what appeared to be a charred piece of wall, onto its side. "It couldn't have originated somewhere less heavy could it?" With one final shove, the other side of the wall piece of was visible. Sherlock knelt to inspect it. He picked a piece of frayed wire, but then threw it down. "Dammit" Sherlock cursed, standing up and stalking off. "What?" John demanded. "It was just an electrical fire." "Isn't that good?" "Good is always a debatable concept. What this means is there is still no evidence of murder." John sighed and shook his head.  
-

Sherlock sat in the parlor, deep in his mind palace. John poked his head through the doorway, and noticed an extremely frustrated expression growing across Sherlock's face. He decided he should probably have some tea ready for him. He was in the kitchen boiling water when he heard crashing coming from the parlor. "THERE IS NO CONNECTION. NONE WHAT SO EVER." John returned to the parlor doorway to see Sherlock stomping around, looking about ready to tear his hair out. "Sherlock you need to calm down," He said, moving quickly toward him, his arm outstretched. "WHY DID I AGREE TO TAKE THIS CASE?" Sherlock was completely ignoring John, who was now standing a few feet away, trying to figure out what he could do. "Look, it was probably just a coincidence that this man was present at all the deaths." "He had no connections to any of them… We interviewed thirty two people John… THIRTY TWO… That doesn't just happen… There has to be a reason." Suddenly Ms. Hudson appeared tentatively in the doorway, "Boys, I am sorry to interrupt but the mail is here and there is a rather… strange envelope for you here." Sherlock stormed past John and snatched it out of his Ms. Hudson's hands. It had no return address, the corners were wrinkled, and there were a number a strange stains on it. She gave john a look as if to say, _I don't know what's the matter but you can calm him down soon. _John nodded, and muttered, "I know." Sherlock had ripped open the envelope and scanned it rapidly. "What does it say?" John asked quietly. "Apparently Mr. Aryd would like us to meet him at his current location." "What?" John asked moving towards him, "May I see what it says?" Sherlock offered him the letter, John took it and Sherlock disappeared to find his coat and scarf. John sat down on the couch as he glanced over the piece of paper. The letter was addressed to Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. "I hope you understand, but I request you and only you visit me here," John read aloud, aiming his voice towards the hallway, "Are you sure this is going to be safe?" Sherlock appeared in the doorway with his coat and scarf on. "No, now get your coat."


	4. Conclusion

John and Sherlock arrived at the address that had been given to them in the letter. It was largely intact abandoned glass factory perched on the edge of a lake in an estate just outside of London. A distant rumble of thunder echoed and John hunched his shoulders, pulling up his collar. "I knew we should have brought an umbrella," he mumbled. Sherlock was already moving towards the main doors of the Factory. John caught up with him as they reached the short set of stone stairs just in front of the entrance. One of the two doors appeared have been jammed open slightly, a rusted padlock and chain lay in a heap in front of the other one. John took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock, "Well, should we knock?" Sherlock seemed to contemplate the idea for a second, "No, we were invited after all." He slowly pushed the door open, and behind it was a very large room that mostly empty except for a few long abandoned pieces of machinery. The only light came from the grimy windows that lined the top of the walls. On the left hand wall, there was a narrow staircase that lead up about a story to walkway with a row of door connected to it. "Well where do we look first?" John asked. Sherlock scanned the floor. "Up the stair. The Dust patterns show they were recently used." They moved swiftly across the factory floor, John trailed behind Sherlock. As Sherlock placed his foot of the first stair, it let out a loud creak. The sound echoed through the empty room. "I am sure our host know we have arrived now," Sherlock said with a hint of humor in his voice. When Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, he stopped. John looked confused but when he came to Sherlock's side, he saw why his friend had stopped. A young woman, probably in her mid-teens, stood about ten paces away with a gun in her hand. The gun was lowered at her side, but she stood in such a way that she could flee or charge at any second. There was a long tense silence, no one moved. John realized he had even forgotten to breath. At last Sherlock broke it. "Hello, We're here to see Mr. Aryd," he said simply, still not moving. The girl remained tense and asked, "Are you Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson?" "Yes we are, what is your name?" Sherlock responded. "Susan Aryd, I am his daughter." "We were invited here by your father." "Yes I know, but he's very sick right now. I am here to explain things for him." John cleared his throat, "You know I… I'm a doctor, I could help if you'd like." Susan glanced from John to Sherlock and then back again, "Alright, both of you should follow me." She hesitantly turned her back and moved down the walkway, gripping the gun a bit tighter. She stopped at the last door and turned around. "He is in there," She said, still no emotion entered her voice. John cautiously opened the door, and headed in side. Sherlock turned as if to follow him but Susan reach out and touched his arm. "No, I need to talk to you." John had knelt down next to a couch where a heavily breathing middle aged man sat, John glanced nervously up at Sherlock who was quickly analyzing the girl. She seemed to be no major threat, her deep blue eyes were dilated in fear that she was clearly trying to hide. The girl dropped her arm and said, "Should we go to the other office?" Sherlock shrugged carefully and said, "I have no preference." The girl sighed and bit her lip. "Ok." She took a few steps down the hall and opened a door. She held it open, and gestured Sherlock inside. "Sit in either of the chairs," She said quietly. Sherlock entered the room, noting every detail of it. There was a desk shoved against a wall with a pile of blankets on top of it, clearly it was intended to be some sort of bed but it had not been used in awhile. In the back of the room there was a large window, in front of it were two mix matched chairs with a small table between them. To the right of it there was a small propane stove. Judging the distance to the door and the amount of visibility, Sherlock chose the chair to the left of the table. Susan shut the door and walked slowly across the room. She sat in the other chair, set her gun on the ground beside her and nervously chuckled. "I would offer you some tea but I'm afraid we're all out." She said, glancing around the room. Sherlock didn't say anything. Susan took a deep breath, and said, "Well you're probably wondering why I insisted on talking to you…" Sherlock nodded slightly and said, "I assume it had something to do with the murders your father is accused of committing." "Yes… But first let me say, you probably won't believe what I tell you… I still feel I need to tell you it, though." "Alright," Sherlock said, his expression did not change. "I'll start… as close to the beginning as I can…" She took another deep breath. "My father and I are a lot like. I never really understood how, but I knew we were. When I was young, I always preferred to be alone, because when I was around people… I never felt… myself, I knew I would just start to feel the way they did. I would meet people and I'd feel… instantly connected to them in a way I couldn't explain or control. My father had always been so distant from my mother, and I never understood why because I knew how much he loved her. One day, when I was about 12, they had a particularly nasty fight. She left the house, and it was just my dad and I at dinner that night. It was then that he explained. He told me he had seen the way I acted around others and that he felt the same way. He said that I was an empath, someone that was highly connected to the emotions of others. My father then began to tell me about his own past. He said… he couldn't explain it… but death seemed to follow him. He had always thought it had something to do with being an empath... Whenever he got close to someone, they would always die. Sometimes he wouldn't even have to be close to them. As of today he's been present at 34 deaths, most of them random strangers on the street. He said it all started when he was 15, my age." She stopped for a second to take a shaky deep breath. "After that night we talked, my dad… gave up… he started giving her all the time she asked for… She was happy but strangely bewildered… One evening my mom called my dad to let him know she was going out with a few friends… There was something both my dad and I felt… a sense of strange foreboding. That night I asked him if I could stay awake late despite it being a school night. He agreed. I believe the television was on but neither of us were watching it. We just stared at the wall…At exactly eighteen minutes past eleven, a strange…. Realization washed over me… accompanied by a feeling of… I guess I'd call it acceptance. I glanced over at my dad and knew instantly that he had felt the same thing. About an hour later, the phone rang…neither of us had to answer it… we already knew who it was… what they would say. My mother had died in a car crash. It was exactly what my dad had feared. I just… that moment made me realize how powerful out empathy was." Susan seemed to choke back tears that were welling in her throat and she changed the subject slightly, "He didn't know any of those people that died last month. He was just there. He wanted to… to help them…he needed to help them because he was there, because he thought it was his fault. He blamed himself." Susan paused for a second, stammering slightly. "I just… I had to tell you all that because… I want you to understand, even if he wanted to, I don't think it would be possible for my father to kill anyone…I don't know if it's a matter of bad luck, coincidence, or being an empath as he says…. But it's not his fault Mr. Holmes. He doesn't want this to happen." There was a silence then, that filled the room. Susan could not meet Sherlock's eyes. Once again, Sherlock broke the silence, "I will not turn your father in to the police." Susan let out a tremendous sigh of relief, her whole body seemed to relax. Sherlock stood up and peered out the window, "but not because of your story." He turned around and looked her in the eyes, "because there is no evidence to suggest that your father is guilty. The circumstances are clearly a set of coincidences. I reached this conclusion prior, but now my suspicion has been confirmed." Susan was still beginning to grin, a few tears of joy slipped from her eyes. "Still Mr. Holmes, I am… so incredibly grateful…Thank you…Thank you so much," she stammered. Sherlock externally brushed it off by walking towards the door, saying, "Excuse me, I must speak with John now. " However Susan could tell that somewhere, he appreciated her gratitude, even if he'd never say it.

Susan, John and Sherlock stood at the doorway of the factory. The clouds had begun to clear, and the sun was poking through. "You need to find some antibiotics, I believe he has a bad case of Pneumonia," John said to Susan, "He will probably live, though, don't worry. Just make sure he stays hydrated, and gets enough rest." Susan nodded in understanding, "I'll do my best Mr. Watson, thank you." "You're welcome. I wish you two luck," John smiled slightly. Sherlock, who seemed rather uncomfortable only nodded and then turned to walk towards the cab that was waiting for them. John jogged to catch up with him, he tried to meet Sherlock's eyes that seemed to be staring off into the distances, "I talked with him a bit… you made the right choice, Sherlock." Sherlock turned his head and said, "Of course. I always make the right choice." John shook his head, sighed and said, "Of course you do Sherlock, of course you do."

As they got in the cab John noted, "We need to figure out what we are going to tell Lestrade." Sherlock said, "We'll tell him the truth." "How much of the truth though?" "Simply our conclusion, if he wishes to press further he can launch his own investigation." There was a brief silence before John turned to Sherlock, "So does this changed your perspective on luck?" "No, why would it?"


End file.
